We're in the middle of a heat wave in upstate New York and everyone is miserable. In winter it's so cold here for about half the year, that I pray for sunshine and/or temps above 40 degrees all of the time, and now that Nature has finally brought the heat, my ass is complaining along with the rest of them.
There is something mind-numbing about incessant heat like this. Not only can you not think, you can't even do anything to take your mind off the heat. Because the only thing that can take your mind off the heat is air conditioning. It's like HEATHEATHEATHEAT drumming in my brain. I can't run, can't do yard work, can't even sit out in the living room and watch tv. All I can do is hole up in the room with the window unit, drink iced wine, watch DVDs, and read books.
Does excessive heat make you lazy both physically and intellectually? I say YES. Before you go formulating a theory that cites heat as the causal factor for why Southerners are largely stereotyped as imbeciles, I would remind you that air conditioning is pervasive in the Southern states.You need only experience the heat minimally if you live down South. This is because if you are Southern, your home has central a/c, as does every home and public building you could conceivably visit, guaranteed, cher. (Woe to the person who must attend an outdoor sporting event in the summer.) The only time you might experience the full force of the heat is when transitioning between indoor locations, or upon first entering your vehicle, and then it's only a few minutes before the a/c kicks in. These people don't play--they know what heat does to the brain. Remember the Civil War? Katrina? Catastrophic events that were, however indirectly, caused by the excessive Southern heat and made worse by the lack of on-demand air conditioning. 'Nuff said.
But I'm not in the South anymore. Up here in New York, where the summers are (usually) temperate, it is not unusual to have seasonal window units instead of central a/c. We only have the one window unit installed right now, so I have been camping out in our bedroom every night this week with a glass of red wine and my laptop, trying to amuse myself while I stay cool. The pugs have been sleeping with us in here at night, and sheltering in the basement during the day. The flowers in our garden crumple in the heat, and the grass is drying up in spots despite our efforts to keep it watered.
Inevitably my thoughts stray as they always do to ancient peoples and how they would have dealt with the heat. Most probably, they lived near water, and could take a cooling dip in said water anytime they wished. Also, they didn't have 9 to 5 jobs, and so could move about freely and care for their children and loved ones in times of heat crisis. They had no knowledge of soap so didn't care if they were greasy and sweaty. And unlike most of us modern peoples, ancient peoples probably accepted the periods of inactivity induced by extreme heat as par for the course, and were therefore well-practiced in napping. Those ancient peoples had way more sense than we do.
Excuse me while I brave the heat to fetch another glass of red wine.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Friday, June 25, 2010
Philly is a nice city.
I'm in Philadelphia right now for a conference, and it's the fourth time I've been here for work, the second time in a year. Last summer I spent about a week here while on a video shoot. I've gotten to know the city a little bit in this time, and I have to say, I am liking it. It's a big city without the attitude--there's great places to eat here, lots of history, cool clubs, bands I like actually play here--I wouldn't mind moving here someday if I could find the right job.
Of course my like of Philly may have something to do with being here on the company funds. Last summer, I stayed at the Windsor Suites, where I had my own kitchenette while I was here on the shoot, and I walked to Whole Foods and bought groceries for the week. I have been wined and dined at amazing places like Amada and Barclay Prime. I just spent the last 3 nights eating well and drinking red wine and Dewar's and water on the company dime, at places I really couldn't afford on my own.
Traveling for work is no longer a novelty for me, but the dinners and drinks certainly make up for the hardship of being away from my husband and home for a few days. It sounds like a blast I know, but when I travel I get off my routine, I eat rich foods and drink copious amounts of alcohol, wake up in the middle of the night with reflux, don't get up and go running because I'm hungover, and then stand on the show floor for seven hours until my feet stab and schmooze till I want to stab people. Meanwhile, email and work piles up back at the office, and when I check emails late at night, the stress comes flooding back. All in all, it's not a party, and there's a price to pay for the time away from the office.
Still, I really love it when I get to know a city from my brief work travels. Most of the trips aren't memorable, but I try to do at least one interesting or memorable thing when I'm away. Like that time in Memphis when I visited Graceland by myself; or the amazing run I took along Puget Sound in Seattle; the Devotchka show I saw in Philly; drinking my way around Epcot in an afternoon; walking along the gold-flecked beach at the Hotel del Coronado in San Diego. Even though I'm tired, slightly queasy, tipsy, and overworked, it has been a good week. Welcome to wherever you are.
Of course my like of Philly may have something to do with being here on the company funds. Last summer, I stayed at the Windsor Suites, where I had my own kitchenette while I was here on the shoot, and I walked to Whole Foods and bought groceries for the week. I have been wined and dined at amazing places like Amada and Barclay Prime. I just spent the last 3 nights eating well and drinking red wine and Dewar's and water on the company dime, at places I really couldn't afford on my own.
Traveling for work is no longer a novelty for me, but the dinners and drinks certainly make up for the hardship of being away from my husband and home for a few days. It sounds like a blast I know, but when I travel I get off my routine, I eat rich foods and drink copious amounts of alcohol, wake up in the middle of the night with reflux, don't get up and go running because I'm hungover, and then stand on the show floor for seven hours until my feet stab and schmooze till I want to stab people. Meanwhile, email and work piles up back at the office, and when I check emails late at night, the stress comes flooding back. All in all, it's not a party, and there's a price to pay for the time away from the office.
Still, I really love it when I get to know a city from my brief work travels. Most of the trips aren't memorable, but I try to do at least one interesting or memorable thing when I'm away. Like that time in Memphis when I visited Graceland by myself; or the amazing run I took along Puget Sound in Seattle; the Devotchka show I saw in Philly; drinking my way around Epcot in an afternoon; walking along the gold-flecked beach at the Hotel del Coronado in San Diego. Even though I'm tired, slightly queasy, tipsy, and overworked, it has been a good week. Welcome to wherever you are.
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Caught in a Vamp romance
On a recent work trip, I picked up the third book in the Twilight series, Eclipse. I'm not sure why I did it--probably because I've already read the first two books, and the momentum to finish is carrying me forward. The first book wasn't so bad...the second book was downright ridiculous. This third book promises to be more so. And in the fourth book, I hear there's a vampire-teeth C-section to look forward to. Excellent.
If you know nothing of these books, here's my summary: they are overwrought-but-super-cereal teenage romances that center around a sexless (so far) relationship between a vampire (Edward Cullen), and a human girl (Bella). Oh, and there's a love triangle of a sort involving a wolf named Jacob. In this iteration of the vampire world, vampires can read minds, but the only mind Edward can't read is (conveniently) Bella's. Oh yeah, and her blood calls to him--so it's both torture and ecstasy to be around her. Bella is a bland, bored, not-generically attractive, pale and dark-haired young woman, who lives with her doltish, overprotective father in rainy Oregon, and sometimes visits her kooky, childlike mother in Arizona. Is that a recipe for angst or what?
Much more fun are the "Dead" Sookie Stackhouse books by Charlaine Harris. I also picked up the latest installment, Dead in the Family, on the same work trip. I read the Twilight books tongue-in-cheek, and they produce at least two eye-rolls per chapter; I read the Sookie books with unvarnished delight, much as I did the Harry Potter books. Guilty pleasures? Maybe, but at least I don't feel ashamed to read the Sookie books, while I did try to hide the cover of the Twilight book from view while on the plane and in the airport. I mean, these books are terrible!
I wouldn't say I have a "thing" for vampires, at all, even though I have certainly consumed my fair share of vampire-themed stories in my adult life. I watched "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" and "Angel" from start to finish, I've read the Anne Rice books. What I do like about fantasy or SF of any kind is the ability it has to go places that regular, 3D, reality-based fiction cannot. These supernatural stories tell our own story back to us in a reinterpreted way that, I think, can sometimes resonate more than a bland old human story can because it engages the imagination. Frankly, I am bored with feel-good human drama crap that ostensibly tries to teach us the meaning of life, or hit us over the head with the comedy and tragedy of it all. I'd much rather get that same message in a world filled with demons, fairies, wolves, vampires, and shape-shifters, or alternately, one that has at least been removed from time and place, like Victorian lit or early English lit. These stories often deal with the same themes--love, loss, fear, triumph, etc--but how they get there is much more interesting.
So I'm reading vampire tripe, but I am also simultaneously reading a book about Victorian sexuality, a book on babies, and Middlemarch. I am capable of reading at a higher level, and am clearly 'slumming it' by reading these vampire books. But to my mind, every book has some value, even the terrible ones. I also realize that not everyone that reads the Twilight books thinks they're stupid like I do. Heck, I know people my own age who read them and moon over them for the "romance," which is a concept I despise. But still I read on.
Fantasy can be dangerous. People who take it literally and try to apply it to their lives only succeed in making themselves miserable. Almost always, romance is a fleeting concept designed to entrap and mislead, yet humans seek it out like a death wish. I live in the world and deal with the mystery and frustration of human relationships and confront the meaninglessness of life on a daily basis. I will read my vampire romances if I want to!
If you know nothing of these books, here's my summary: they are overwrought-but-super-cereal teenage romances that center around a sexless (so far) relationship between a vampire (Edward Cullen), and a human girl (Bella). Oh, and there's a love triangle of a sort involving a wolf named Jacob. In this iteration of the vampire world, vampires can read minds, but the only mind Edward can't read is (conveniently) Bella's. Oh yeah, and her blood calls to him--so it's both torture and ecstasy to be around her. Bella is a bland, bored, not-generically attractive, pale and dark-haired young woman, who lives with her doltish, overprotective father in rainy Oregon, and sometimes visits her kooky, childlike mother in Arizona. Is that a recipe for angst or what?
Much more fun are the "Dead" Sookie Stackhouse books by Charlaine Harris. I also picked up the latest installment, Dead in the Family, on the same work trip. I read the Twilight books tongue-in-cheek, and they produce at least two eye-rolls per chapter; I read the Sookie books with unvarnished delight, much as I did the Harry Potter books. Guilty pleasures? Maybe, but at least I don't feel ashamed to read the Sookie books, while I did try to hide the cover of the Twilight book from view while on the plane and in the airport. I mean, these books are terrible!
I wouldn't say I have a "thing" for vampires, at all, even though I have certainly consumed my fair share of vampire-themed stories in my adult life. I watched "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" and "Angel" from start to finish, I've read the Anne Rice books. What I do like about fantasy or SF of any kind is the ability it has to go places that regular, 3D, reality-based fiction cannot. These supernatural stories tell our own story back to us in a reinterpreted way that, I think, can sometimes resonate more than a bland old human story can because it engages the imagination. Frankly, I am bored with feel-good human drama crap that ostensibly tries to teach us the meaning of life, or hit us over the head with the comedy and tragedy of it all. I'd much rather get that same message in a world filled with demons, fairies, wolves, vampires, and shape-shifters, or alternately, one that has at least been removed from time and place, like Victorian lit or early English lit. These stories often deal with the same themes--love, loss, fear, triumph, etc--but how they get there is much more interesting.
So I'm reading vampire tripe, but I am also simultaneously reading a book about Victorian sexuality, a book on babies, and Middlemarch. I am capable of reading at a higher level, and am clearly 'slumming it' by reading these vampire books. But to my mind, every book has some value, even the terrible ones. I also realize that not everyone that reads the Twilight books thinks they're stupid like I do. Heck, I know people my own age who read them and moon over them for the "romance," which is a concept I despise. But still I read on.
Fantasy can be dangerous. People who take it literally and try to apply it to their lives only succeed in making themselves miserable. Almost always, romance is a fleeting concept designed to entrap and mislead, yet humans seek it out like a death wish. I live in the world and deal with the mystery and frustration of human relationships and confront the meaninglessness of life on a daily basis. I will read my vampire romances if I want to!
Monday, May 24, 2010
That Stupid Island Show on ABC: Lost and Fantasy Island
Last night was the inevitable, inexorable final episode of "Lost" on ABC. We started watching this show via Netflix some years back, and watched the first three seasons on DVD. In season four we started tuning in live once we were "caught up," and strangely enough, that's around the time when the show started going downhill for us. It simply got too ridiculous with plot twists and timelines to the point where I didn't feel like putting forth the effort to string together what was happening in which timeline anymore, I just let each new plot line wash over me. But if I've spent that much time on something, there's no way in hell I'm not going to see it through to the bitter end--which is exactly what I did. The show had long since lost the ability to engender any astonishment in me, and I wanted to punch that stupid squinty-eyed Kate in the FACE every week, but I kept watching.
Much more fascinating than the actual show are the people who are rabid fans of the show. As far as Lost-haters go, I am in a somewhat quiet minority. That's because when "Losties" hear criticism of their show, they become indignant and hostile, much like Republicans. They will brook no opposition to their beloved show, and they find its meandering, fantastical storyline (that includes polar bears, smoke monsters, and time travel, by the way) to be as thrilling as ever. Women especially seem to love the show, and predictably get caught up in the romances between characters. For these fans, the final episode was a happy reuniting of everyone--all's well that ends well, right? WRONG. I am ever the skeptic and so I never trust happy endings. Didn't anyone actually read the fairy tales of yore? Those things were DARK and GERMAN, and the happy ending always came with a price. Americans are a tad obsessed with happy endings, however--we all but demand them in every movie. Twist and turn us however you may, but that movie better end happily, goddammit! I for one was disappointed that everything--all the time travel, the flashbacks/flashforwards/flashsideways, Walt, the Others, babies, the Light, Jacob, the cave, the Hatch, the numbers, the French woman, Widmore's obsession, the Dharma initiative--all of that ridiculous bullshit that was at times enthralling because it was just so fuckin' weird, boiled down to some sort of "lesson" and the quasi-religious notion of "moving on." Really assholes, really?
Ok I'm getting sidetracked. Where was I going? Oh yeah. Totally by chance, I recently started getting "Fantasy Island" from Netflix. Full disclosure: I am going through this 'retro' period where I am reliving the old shows I was raised on from the 80s--Loveboat, Fantasy Island, Dallas, Falcon Crest, Knots' Landing--and I watched the pilot and first two episodes of FI with the inimitable Ricardo Montalban as Mr. Rourke, and of course his wee sidekick, Herve Villechaize, as Tattoo.
In case you don't know, the premise of the show was that people pay good money to come to FI to have their greatest fantasy fulfilled. In the original made-for-tv movie, the three fantasies were: 1. to attend one's own funeral, 2. to be hunted, 3. a WWI vet wants to relive a night of romance with a woman whom, as it turns out, he killed. It's pretty dark stuff to say the least, at least at its inception. Later on, the show got a tad more campy, but in the beginning, the visitors didn't always have their fantasies fulfilled in the way they expected. Mr. Rourke liked to throw a moral wrench in the works, and things often took a sinister turn before straightening out again.
Halfway through the pilot, I thought, 'ahhh, this show too centers around an island where people have shit happen to them and a lesson is learned'--so of course I immediately went to IMDB and Wikipedia to learn more. There I discovered that both Fantasy Island and Lost ran on ABC, and it seemed profoundly fascinating to me at the time (yes I was drinking) that ABC has now had two long-running shows about islands.
There are two points I want to make here. First, Fantasy Island is much more freewheeling and fun than Lost could ever be. But the tv viewing world can never have a show like Fantasy Island ever again--there was an innocence and honesty about that show that cannot be recaptured. It was the island show of the late 70s and early 80s, after all! Second, Lost is the island show of the 2000s is because it hinges on its own purported profundity. It promises depths, and lures us in with seeming complexity--but in the end it's all sound and fury, signifying nothing. The writers even said that they included various allusions to mythology, religion, philosophy, literature at the whim of their staff--"If a writer liked a particular book, they just put it in." Really? I guess that means you'd be a damned fool to try to figure out any logic behind that Stephen King book that appears in Season 4.
In the late 70s and early 80s, life was good, and tv programming echoed that--petty human drama was central, and while there was some moralizing, it was mild and innocuous, often added for titillation. Modern life is hard, difficult, complex, not as fulfilling, scary even--but still modern tv viewers don't really want to think, they want to perform the illusion of thinking, and Lost was exactly the kind of show to give the average television viewer that empty religious experience they were looking for. The characters crash-land, die, get involved in some kind of netherworld/limbo/purgatory experiment that is never really explained, and then gather at a church before they collectively move into the light once they've suffered enough to realize they are dead. Sadly, there are no leis or tropical fruit drinks to welcome them.
I am sure there are plenty of Christians out there already claiming Lost as parable, taking to heart each character's journey into the Light of Jesus Christ. Ugh. Is that all there is to the show, I ask you? Maybe not, but I'll be damned if I'm going to spend another minute trying to make sense of the massive knot of shit the writers left behind. Maybe when the Rapture happens, we'll all find out what Lost was really about.
I'll end with a (paraphrased) quote from Mr. Rourke. "On the island, I make the rules--all of them. And no one breaks them--only me. Get me my drink!"
Much more fascinating than the actual show are the people who are rabid fans of the show. As far as Lost-haters go, I am in a somewhat quiet minority. That's because when "Losties" hear criticism of their show, they become indignant and hostile, much like Republicans. They will brook no opposition to their beloved show, and they find its meandering, fantastical storyline (that includes polar bears, smoke monsters, and time travel, by the way) to be as thrilling as ever. Women especially seem to love the show, and predictably get caught up in the romances between characters. For these fans, the final episode was a happy reuniting of everyone--all's well that ends well, right? WRONG. I am ever the skeptic and so I never trust happy endings. Didn't anyone actually read the fairy tales of yore? Those things were DARK and GERMAN, and the happy ending always came with a price. Americans are a tad obsessed with happy endings, however--we all but demand them in every movie. Twist and turn us however you may, but that movie better end happily, goddammit! I for one was disappointed that everything--all the time travel, the flashbacks/flashforwards/flashsideways, Walt, the Others, babies, the Light, Jacob, the cave, the Hatch, the numbers, the French woman, Widmore's obsession, the Dharma initiative--all of that ridiculous bullshit that was at times enthralling because it was just so fuckin' weird, boiled down to some sort of "lesson" and the quasi-religious notion of "moving on." Really assholes, really?
Ok I'm getting sidetracked. Where was I going? Oh yeah. Totally by chance, I recently started getting "Fantasy Island" from Netflix. Full disclosure: I am going through this 'retro' period where I am reliving the old shows I was raised on from the 80s--Loveboat, Fantasy Island, Dallas, Falcon Crest, Knots' Landing--and I watched the pilot and first two episodes of FI with the inimitable Ricardo Montalban as Mr. Rourke, and of course his wee sidekick, Herve Villechaize, as Tattoo.
In case you don't know, the premise of the show was that people pay good money to come to FI to have their greatest fantasy fulfilled. In the original made-for-tv movie, the three fantasies were: 1. to attend one's own funeral, 2. to be hunted, 3. a WWI vet wants to relive a night of romance with a woman whom, as it turns out, he killed. It's pretty dark stuff to say the least, at least at its inception. Later on, the show got a tad more campy, but in the beginning, the visitors didn't always have their fantasies fulfilled in the way they expected. Mr. Rourke liked to throw a moral wrench in the works, and things often took a sinister turn before straightening out again.
Halfway through the pilot, I thought, 'ahhh, this show too centers around an island where people have shit happen to them and a lesson is learned'--so of course I immediately went to IMDB and Wikipedia to learn more. There I discovered that both Fantasy Island and Lost ran on ABC, and it seemed profoundly fascinating to me at the time (yes I was drinking) that ABC has now had two long-running shows about islands.
There are two points I want to make here. First, Fantasy Island is much more freewheeling and fun than Lost could ever be. But the tv viewing world can never have a show like Fantasy Island ever again--there was an innocence and honesty about that show that cannot be recaptured. It was the island show of the late 70s and early 80s, after all! Second, Lost is the island show of the 2000s is because it hinges on its own purported profundity. It promises depths, and lures us in with seeming complexity--but in the end it's all sound and fury, signifying nothing. The writers even said that they included various allusions to mythology, religion, philosophy, literature at the whim of their staff--"If a writer liked a particular book, they just put it in." Really? I guess that means you'd be a damned fool to try to figure out any logic behind that Stephen King book that appears in Season 4.
In the late 70s and early 80s, life was good, and tv programming echoed that--petty human drama was central, and while there was some moralizing, it was mild and innocuous, often added for titillation. Modern life is hard, difficult, complex, not as fulfilling, scary even--but still modern tv viewers don't really want to think, they want to perform the illusion of thinking, and Lost was exactly the kind of show to give the average television viewer that empty religious experience they were looking for. The characters crash-land, die, get involved in some kind of netherworld/limbo/purgatory experiment that is never really explained, and then gather at a church before they collectively move into the light once they've suffered enough to realize they are dead. Sadly, there are no leis or tropical fruit drinks to welcome them.
I am sure there are plenty of Christians out there already claiming Lost as parable, taking to heart each character's journey into the Light of Jesus Christ. Ugh. Is that all there is to the show, I ask you? Maybe not, but I'll be damned if I'm going to spend another minute trying to make sense of the massive knot of shit the writers left behind. Maybe when the Rapture happens, we'll all find out what Lost was really about.
I'll end with a (paraphrased) quote from Mr. Rourke. "On the island, I make the rules--all of them. And no one breaks them--only me. Get me my drink!"
Saturday, May 8, 2010
Let the Worrying Begin!
So my husband and I are probably most likely gonna possibly start trying to have a baby sometime next year, and I have already begun kinda sorta maybe planning for it. Most women probably wait until they are actually pregnant, but I have already bought a handful of books, and have begun drafting a hefty 'to do before baby' list. The list includes replacing a few remaining old windows, stripping/repainting trim that probably contains lead, and--oh yeah--remodeling our upstairs bedroom, and maybe parts of our kitchen.
And then last night I found myself looking up school district maps. As much as I like Schenectady, I don't want to live in this part of it when I have a school-age child. I myself am a product of public school, and I have no problem with mixed races in the classroom--I prefer it--but I also don't want my kid going to a ghetto school with future gang members, and Schenectady has a gang problem, particularly in middle school. And it appears that magnet school attendance is now determined by lottery and no longer by test scores like it was in my day--so even if our kid is smart/advanced, that won't determine whether or not it gets into the better magnet schools in the area. It goes without saying that I would never want to send my kid to private school, even if I could afford it.
Then there's the worry about our parenting styles, and what type of parents/role models we will be. I worry about our bickering--my husband and I seem to bicker the most when we are doing a house project together. He says I am a dictator when it comes to projects--I have a vision and it's my vision or nothing, and he feels overruled. We're working on our backyard remodel at the moment, and last night he simply said the words 'marble chips' as a possibility for an overlooked section of our yard, and I was like, 'oh, HELL no.' His problem is that I won't even pretend to entertain his ideas, I just dismiss them out of hand. I know that I do this, but he always comes around to my vision, in the end, so no harm, no foul, right? Besides, I think we enjoy the bickering, to some degree. It never erupts into full-blown arguments, so I think we're ok. But having a baby will open up whole new vistas of potential bickering, and I worry that the added stress will take its toll on us, and make us bad parents.
I suppose all of my fears are normal. No one has a perfectly debt-free, stress-free life, picture-perfect and smiling, ready to receive Baby. My husband and I might bicker, and we're far from rich, but we love each other, and we communicate well, for the most part. And at least my kid will have what I didn't: a two-parent household filled with bickering, laughter, and love.
For my own sanity I'm going to have to table some of this worrying for now, and focus on house projects. When I'm fat with giant boobs and an alien growing inside me, that's when I'll start worrying about schools and parenting styles.
And then last night I found myself looking up school district maps. As much as I like Schenectady, I don't want to live in this part of it when I have a school-age child. I myself am a product of public school, and I have no problem with mixed races in the classroom--I prefer it--but I also don't want my kid going to a ghetto school with future gang members, and Schenectady has a gang problem, particularly in middle school. And it appears that magnet school attendance is now determined by lottery and no longer by test scores like it was in my day--so even if our kid is smart/advanced, that won't determine whether or not it gets into the better magnet schools in the area. It goes without saying that I would never want to send my kid to private school, even if I could afford it.
Then there's the worry about our parenting styles, and what type of parents/role models we will be. I worry about our bickering--my husband and I seem to bicker the most when we are doing a house project together. He says I am a dictator when it comes to projects--I have a vision and it's my vision or nothing, and he feels overruled. We're working on our backyard remodel at the moment, and last night he simply said the words 'marble chips' as a possibility for an overlooked section of our yard, and I was like, 'oh, HELL no.' His problem is that I won't even pretend to entertain his ideas, I just dismiss them out of hand. I know that I do this, but he always comes around to my vision, in the end, so no harm, no foul, right? Besides, I think we enjoy the bickering, to some degree. It never erupts into full-blown arguments, so I think we're ok. But having a baby will open up whole new vistas of potential bickering, and I worry that the added stress will take its toll on us, and make us bad parents.
I suppose all of my fears are normal. No one has a perfectly debt-free, stress-free life, picture-perfect and smiling, ready to receive Baby. My husband and I might bicker, and we're far from rich, but we love each other, and we communicate well, for the most part. And at least my kid will have what I didn't: a two-parent household filled with bickering, laughter, and love.
For my own sanity I'm going to have to table some of this worrying for now, and focus on house projects. When I'm fat with giant boobs and an alien growing inside me, that's when I'll start worrying about schools and parenting styles.
Monday, April 26, 2010
Honor thy mother. Seriously.
It's that time of year again, when we are reminded by corporations to honor our mothers by sending them flowers or candy or a card on Mother's Day. Most of you out there probably don't even register the day it until the day of, when you call your dear, sweet, considerate, and concerned mother, the woman who presumably cared for you as a child and who presumably fostered a healthy, loving, and respectful with you into adulthood.
Well la de frickin' da for you. Yes I'm bitter and jealous that you have one of these creatures called 'mother' with whom you have a blandly normal, wonderful relationship. I can only wish that I had that blandness that you take for granted.
You might have guessed at this point that my relationship with my mother is less than decent. Anyone who knows me knows vaguely of my "mother drama." I might joke about it, but this mother drama causes me real aggravation and shame. Suffice to say, my mother drama is the one thing that can give me the sads on the regular, and it doesn't look like that is going to change anytime soon.
This year the choice is between keeping up the pretense and sending my mother a card on mother's day (like always), or digging in and saving myself a stamp. I think I'm going with the latter this year. It's painful to have to choose from among all of those cards addressed to great and wonderful mothers, mothers who are best friends, role models, champions, believers, nuturers, etc--all things mothers should aspire to be, I agree, but none of which suit my particular sentiments.
If only there were cards that said something along the lines of 'Mother, thank you for not aborting me/sorry I stole your youth' or 'Mother, I remember fondly the time you couldn't give us a wedding shower but then had one for my cousin' or my favorite, 'Mother I'll be here for you every time he hits you/cheats on you/lies to you.' That would be more like it. Heartwarming, isn't it?
The worst thing about having a terrible relationship with your mother? I mean of course aside from the fact that the one person I should always be able to count on is as unreliable, selfish, and petulant as a 12-year old? Trying to get people to understand how in the fuck this shit can happen. When I try to explain the situation, I am often met with--well, it is hard to say what I am met with, exactly. So counfounded are people by the impossible idea that a woman who has given birth is somehow not living up to the title of Mother, that they kind of refuse to believe it, turn it back on me, and conclude that my problems with my mother are either exaggerated or somehow my fault. It's a very sensitive, almost taboo subject.
Let me just say that I would not wish this on anyone. All I can do is keep praying that my mother will change her situation and get her sanity back before it's too late to salvage our relationship. Maintaining a relationship with my mother has been and probably always will be my awful burden. My poor relationship with mother is one of the main reasons why I have taken so long to come around to the idea of motherhood.
Let my lack of a good maternal relationship be a lesson to you all: don't take your mother for granted. She may nag and annoy you, she may say impertinent things and voice unwanted opinions about your choices in life, but ultimately, those things signal her concern and love for you, so go with it. Let the motherly concern wash over you. The next time you roll your eyes at her latest life suggestion or choice of pantwear, just think of me, and be glad you're not me. Go hug your mother.
Well la de frickin' da for you. Yes I'm bitter and jealous that you have one of these creatures called 'mother' with whom you have a blandly normal, wonderful relationship. I can only wish that I had that blandness that you take for granted.
You might have guessed at this point that my relationship with my mother is less than decent. Anyone who knows me knows vaguely of my "mother drama." I might joke about it, but this mother drama causes me real aggravation and shame. Suffice to say, my mother drama is the one thing that can give me the sads on the regular, and it doesn't look like that is going to change anytime soon.
This year the choice is between keeping up the pretense and sending my mother a card on mother's day (like always), or digging in and saving myself a stamp. I think I'm going with the latter this year. It's painful to have to choose from among all of those cards addressed to great and wonderful mothers, mothers who are best friends, role models, champions, believers, nuturers, etc--all things mothers should aspire to be, I agree, but none of which suit my particular sentiments.
If only there were cards that said something along the lines of 'Mother, thank you for not aborting me/sorry I stole your youth' or 'Mother, I remember fondly the time you couldn't give us a wedding shower but then had one for my cousin' or my favorite, 'Mother I'll be here for you every time he hits you/cheats on you/lies to you.' That would be more like it. Heartwarming, isn't it?
The worst thing about having a terrible relationship with your mother? I mean of course aside from the fact that the one person I should always be able to count on is as unreliable, selfish, and petulant as a 12-year old? Trying to get people to understand how in the fuck this shit can happen. When I try to explain the situation, I am often met with--well, it is hard to say what I am met with, exactly. So counfounded are people by the impossible idea that a woman who has given birth is somehow not living up to the title of Mother, that they kind of refuse to believe it, turn it back on me, and conclude that my problems with my mother are either exaggerated or somehow my fault. It's a very sensitive, almost taboo subject.
Let me just say that I would not wish this on anyone. All I can do is keep praying that my mother will change her situation and get her sanity back before it's too late to salvage our relationship. Maintaining a relationship with my mother has been and probably always will be my awful burden. My poor relationship with mother is one of the main reasons why I have taken so long to come around to the idea of motherhood.
Let my lack of a good maternal relationship be a lesson to you all: don't take your mother for granted. She may nag and annoy you, she may say impertinent things and voice unwanted opinions about your choices in life, but ultimately, those things signal her concern and love for you, so go with it. Let the motherly concern wash over you. The next time you roll your eyes at her latest life suggestion or choice of pantwear, just think of me, and be glad you're not me. Go hug your mother.
Sunday, April 18, 2010
I will never see another 3D movie, and here's why.
First of all, I had to stare at Sam Worthington's generic face through dark 3D glasses once again, which caused me to draw comparisons to the last movie we saw in the theater, 'Avatar.' I have to wonder how this guy got so big, so fast, seemingly out of nowhere. In one year he's in two blockbuster 3D movies, both of which require him to ride a flying beast of some sort, and neither of which require more of him than his standard military-style buzz cut. That guy must have great karma.
Second, despite trailers showing a regal-looking Liam Neeson shouting, "release the Kraken," this was not a fun romp through ancient mythology. Sam played a Perseus very reluctant to use his god-like abilities--he keeps saying he wants to do this 'as a man,' which aggravated the hell out of me and the band of misfits that accompany him on his journey. Moments before the last of his compatriots are turned to stone by Medusa, there is a rousing Lord-of-the-Rings-esque moment in which Perseus tells him heretofore he's only met one great man (his father)--but today he has met four, plus a woman (the woman being Io, his guardian). Cue eye-roll sequence!
Movies just aren't worth the money these days. $25 bucks for a couple to see a 3D movie? Never again! I have seen no less than four 3D movies in the past year, and after last night's travesty, I vow to never see another one. Frankly I don't see how 3D movies today are all that different from 3D movies in the 80s. I know the process is different, yadda yadda, and the glasses are different, but I find the new glasses annoying, dark, and the effects just aren't worth the trouble IMO. The only movie that I thought was worth seeing in 3D was 'Coraline,' because it was animated, and 3D seems to work better on images that are manufactured. Avatar was visually psychedelic, it's true, but the glasses didn't enhance that, and the story sucked. Special effects do not a good story make.
My newly-formed theory about 3D movies is this: if a live-action movie is in 3D, someone is most likely trying to cover a shoddy plot and cynically reap millions of dollars from stupid Americans. I'd rather see a regular movie that has a compelling story over a flat, rehashed storyline in 3D any day. But I generally don't make it out to the theaters--we rent movies at home, like most people. There is something to be said for the movie going experience, it's just not something that has been enjoyable for me in a long, long time. I fear that 3D was the last gimmick to get people out to theaters, and that has failed miserably through overuse. The movie industry is going to have to downsize itself because it has ceased to entertain. Granted, there is a lot of crap out there, and plenty of people willing to waste their hard-earned money and time consuming it; I'm just not one of them. For the discriminating viewer, television is just much more intriguing these days. :P
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